


Pause Before The Storms

by ancestrallizard



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancestrallizard/pseuds/ancestrallizard
Summary: Chrom and Robin have some things to straighten out before their fledgling relationship can take off.
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Pause Before The Storms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voidbeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidbeast/gifts).



> Very very late holiday gift fic for Voidbeast

Even Chrom, as busy as he was since the end of the war and Gangrel’s defeat, eventually noticed that the army’s voice had gradually begun to shift.

The cacophony of battle and the cries of the wounded and the dying had given way to the graveyard quiet of mourning, and then, slowly, to a burgeoning cautious optimism. It was gallows humor at first, relief at dodging death and toasting the memory of those who hadn’t, but soon a real sense of relief and excitement at going home took hold. Some even started to sing marching songs again.

Their happiness buoyed his spirit, even if he didn’t feel quite so enthusiastic. Every smile, laugh, and marching song amongst the Shepherds served as another reminder that hadn’t lost even more of the people he loved.

“I don’t think I’ve seen either army this happy before.” Robin said one day on the march home. The sky was clear of any heavy clouds or biting winds, and the ground was mostly level, except for rocks in the ground trees downed in a recent storm. The worst of the journey was apparently behind them.

Chrom walked beside him. He had been repeatedly encouraged by his captains to ride a horse, so as to make a better impression when they finally reached Ylisstol, but every time he refused. Would it make a better impression? Probably. But he didn’t want to take one of the few horses they had left from someone who needed it. so he walked.

“How so? You saw them before the war, didn’t you?” Chrom asked with half a mind, wondering somewhat inanely about the distance between them. He never gave it a second thought but things were different now. Was this as close as before? Too close? 

“I did, but this… just feels different.” Robin answered. He glanced around at their companions and allies, enough for the collar of his shirt shift and expose the fresh bandages wrapped around his shoulder. “I’ve never been around so many people excited to go home.”

He smiled, but even wearing his hood Chrom could see that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Sadness or sympathy twisted in his chest. 

“Do you have anywhere you want to go when we reach the capitol? Anything you want to do?” He asked. The eagerness in his voice was painfully obvious.

That the Shepherd’s tactician was important to him had never been much of a secret to anyone. It was never much of secret to Chrom himself, either, though it took him far too long to realize how special Robin really was to him, and it took even longer to finally say as much. 

He initially confessed what felt like a lifetime ago, before the war, and before Em. Chrom had been laid up in an infirmary tent, where Robin had dragged him, berating him for recklessness all the while. Chrom thought the tactician was overreacting. He wasn’t dead, the villager he protected from the bandits escaped unscathed, and the cut to his head had almost stopped bleeding. It was all fine, really.

The healing spell that fixed his head also left him dizzy and disoriented. One of the few things he was aware of was Robin, kneeling beside his cot with that worried look he hated to see. Robin held his hand, glancing between him and healer while biting his lip. The closeness was making him giddy; the tactician usually seemed to hold the other Shepherds at a distance. Chrom thought he was a wonderful, beautiful person, for a long time, but now it felt important for him to hear it.

And when the healer stepped away and they were alone, he said as much. Or, he thought he did. Robin just sighed and brushed a hand across his brow, which felt nice, but wasn’t exactly the reaction he was expecting.

He said as much again, the next day, when he was finally released from the tent, and had to repeat it another time after that before Robin finally believes that he wasn’t still delirious. 

In the present, Robin made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t know.” He finally said. “It’s sort of funny. I’ve been fighting for peace this whole time, and now that I have it I have no idea what to do with myself.”

“Why not stay on with the Shepherds?” Chrom asked.

“Would I be of any use, without a war to fight?”

“Of course!” Chrom insisted, quickly. “Peace has to be protected. And besides that, you’re our friend. There will always be a place for you with me.”

Robin stopped walking and stared. Chrom stared back, and then realized what he’d just said. His face flushed in embarrassment. “With us! I meant with us.” He stuttered. “You’ve been with us all through so much, we’d never turn you away just because it’s over.”

He didn’t know if that was an overstep. When he’d first confessed, Robin argued that they couldn’t think of taking it further until the skirmishes, and later the war, were dealt with. Chrom agreed; it was a crucial time, and the tactician beginning a relationship with their commander might have crossed a line. But the war was over now, and where before talking to him was easy as breathing, now things felt new an awkward, like he’d never spoken to him before.

Robin, stone faced, kept walking, but he didn’t turn quick enough to hide the mirror flush rising on his own face.

=

As commander and prince, Chrom’s tent was usually placed in the center of their army camps, and their roadside camps were no exception. He tried not to be there, and there was never a shortage of distractions to keep him from it; he was rarely still, helping set up camp, attending meetings about the movement of their army and its supplied, training, and, upsettingly often, being a shoulder to cry on for Lissa.

But no matter how much he planned or trained or comforted, work always ran dry and he wound up in the tent for a night of fitful sleep. The responsibility of the Halidom and the loss of the independence he’d craved and worked so hard for loomed over him like a dark wave cresting over the horizon. He felt adrift in a shipwreck, lost and helpless.

When the army was still a few weeks from the capitol, he hit his limit. At the end of the day, instead of retreating to the tent where he knew he wouldn’t get much rest, he left.

The prince slipped through the camps as carefully as if they were live battlefields. The regular army camp wasn’t an issue, but the Shepherds could have posed a problem. Sumia and Sully recently announced their plans to marry the day before, and everyone was itching to celebrate. Chrom was beyond happy for his friends, and would have stayed to join the revelries, but he felt his dread might inadvertently dampen the celebration.

By grace of Naga, or whatever divine being that happened to feel charitable, he made it out of the concentric campsites without being approached. Far from foreboding, the cold, lonely darkness that lurked outside the crowded maze was a cool pond in the peak of summer.

Though they were well nestled in Ylissean territory at this point, an inner voice that sounded suspiciously similar to Frederick’s reprimanded him for leaving the safety of the camp. He ignored it, moving farther along the open field while keeping the orange light of the camps to his back. He wasn’t going far, and the moon was nearly full besides that, so bright that that it shone through passing clouds and created an amber halo.

It was so bright and he was still so close to camp that there was no way that any bandits could take him by surprise. Or, he thought that, until a human silhouette moved silently into his periphery. He gripped Falchion’s hilt. “Who’s there?”

The shape moved closer, and Chrom saw a slash of messy white hair reflecting the moonlight and a long robe that trailed through the grass.

He relaxed, letting his sword hand fall. “Robin! What are you doing out here?”

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” He said. “I can leave, if you wish to be alone.”

“No! No, please, stay.”

Robin slipped beside him like a shadow, close enough that the sleeve of his cloak brushed his bare arm. His long hair was still tussled from the wind that blew in through the plain.

“How are your wounds?” Chrom asked. “Was the march today too much?”

He couldn’t see them in the dark, but knew all too well the lacerations on his shoulder and torso, deep cut in abdomen. They couldn’t able to give him treatment with a stave – their supplies had started to run low – so he only received limited magical healing and had to wait for his body to naturally take care of the rest. Robin hadn’t come anywhere close to death, not really, but that he got hurt defending him deeply rattled him all the same.

Robin shook his head. “They don’t pain me, no. Honestly, the cold bothers me more than anything.”

The night air, once freeing, now felt completely stifling. Chrom was nervous. Why was he nervous? Would this be a good time to say something romantic? Or do something?

“Why did you come out here?” Chrom asked eventually.

Robin sighed, looking toward the light of camp. Chrom could pick out individual voices on the wind – Lissa, Maribelle, Gaius – and saw shapes on patrol while others worked, none with the focused intensity of wartime. He had moved farther away than he realized, farther than he meant to. “I needed space to think, and I don’t have watch for awhile. I’m sure no one will miss me. Sully told me to say hello, by the way.”

“Really?”

“Well, mostly cursing you and demanding you come to their party. I think the hello was implied.”

Chrom snorted. 

“And why are you out here?” Robin asked in return.

He wanted to press the point, but also didn’t want to cause him to leave, not yet. “The same reason as you.” he answered. “I need space to breath and, and to think.”

He didn’t mention the responsibilities and life waiting for him at the capitol, but by look on Robin’s face, he likely understood anyway. His hand twitched, almost reaching out for him before falling back. “Chrom…”

He tried to smile, and might have succeeded. “I’m fine.” He insisted. 

“Actually,” Robin said, “Now that you’re here, there was something I, um. That I should –“ He rubbed back of right hand, and stopped.

It was incredibly unusual. Whenever faced with a tough situation, whether on a game board or in a strategy meeting, Robin always moved as he tried to puzzle out a solution – either chewed his lips or twitched his fingers, eyes bright with challenge. Chrom hadn’t seen him freeze or trip over his words before.

“Robin?”

“I have to tell you something.” He finally said.

“Okay?”

He didn’t tell him anything. The moon shone on, more cold than bright. Robin’s back was to the woods, and when his weight settled on his back foot Chrom thought he was about to run.

He took off his right glove and held his hand out to Chrom. The light just barely illuminated the dark lines on the back.

“I’m sorry.” Robin said, even before Chrom could finish processing that the mark appeared to be a Grimleal symbol. “I should have told you about it before, a long time ago.”

Chrom took his hand, examining the mark. It was a thin upside-down arc, ringed by six evenly spaced eyes.

“I don’t think it matters so much,” He said bluntly. “We’ve already assumed you’re from Plegia because of your robes, right? Does being former Grimleal change anything?”

“Yes.” Robin took his hand back and rubbed the mark with his left thumb. “I couldn’t get an exact answer in Plegia, but I learned that marks like this on the right hand are usually reserved for fairly important members of the cult. Not every member would have it. Most members wouldn’t.”

Robin tensed, like he was getting ready to run. The clouds were rolling in thicker now, obscuring him from view except for flashes of distant fire in his eyes. “You don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I am, or what I am, and – I never want to hurt you, even just by association. What if someone learns about me and it damages you, or your standing as king?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

He sighed, a sound he recognized when he made a bad move in chess. “Chrom, it can’t be that simple.”

“I know it isn’t, and it can’t be but – it’s how I feel.”

Far from mollifying Robin, the admission only incensed him. His hands curled into fists, and he virtually bristled. “No, no, you can’t just say that.”

“But – “

“No! You don’t know who or what I am. I could hurt you or Ylisse or, I don’t know!”

His face had more emotion than he could ever remember seeing on it, open and pleading, but Chrom couldn’t offer that understanding because he still didn’t understand what this was all about. Even if he did, he couldn’t just leave him, the way Robin seemed to be hoping he would.

He moved forward into the space Robin left. “Robin, why do you keep saying that? That you don’t know what you are?”

Robin moved quickly, not to lash out but to snatched Chrom’s hand and bring it to the side of his own head. He guided it under his long white hair to the shell of his ear.

It wasn’t as long and tempered as Nowi’s but the edge was still pointed. Still subtly inhuman. Still something that could belong to – 

“A manakete?” Chrom asked, dazed, at a loss for anything else. “You’re a manakete?”

Robin let him go, pulling his hood up. Chrom didn’t know what to think. His friend was a manakete? How did he miss this? Were there signs? What would he even look for? He’d never seen him do anything that far out of the ordinary. 

Or maybe he had. 

There was the incident, simultaneously muddled and devastatingly clear, after the initial escape from Plegia. After Em had fallen.

His body and soul were in agony. He stumbled through the canyon, lashing out at any enemy in path while sleeting rain clouded his eyes and gouged at the fresh wounds coating his body. He didn’t know where the Shepherds were. At some point his luck ran out. His injuries overwhelmed him and he stumbled into cold mud. He couldn’t get up. Everything burned. A Plegian soldier sprang at him, axe swinging down in a wide arc. Chrom thought, very lucidly, that he was about to die and leave Lissa all alone.

The blow never came. A piece of the dark broke away and knocked the soldier to the soaked earth with a guttural yell that was almost a roar. With two sharp thrusts of a short sword, the soldier screamed a wet scream that ended in choking, and then silence. 

The darkness grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Robin.

Robin dragged him back through the lashing rain and darkness. Chrom tried to object, but as dizzy with fugue and blood loss as he was he couldn’t know if what he said was even coherent. Robin tried to keep them out of the path of stray soldiers, but when he couldn’t, he dispatched them brutally, almost messily, nothing like the precise tactician he knew. 

There wasn’t any one definitive moment that confirmed inhumanity. It was Robin’s eyes, the oddly shaped pupils and how they flashed through the gloom. It was the way his hand, ungloved for once, had left deep sharp cuts that they later had to be stitched close. It was the way he was close enough to see how sharp his teeth were. All small instances that built up into a gut feeling that as they staggered through the rain while a low rumble like a growl or thunderstorm saturated the air, the most dangerous being for miles was right beside him.

Robin, unbloodied and pale, said, “I’ve tried using dragonstones, but they never work. I don’t think I’m a manakete, but – I might not be entirely human.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked quietly. They were still alone, but his awareness shifted all the same cautious of any other wandering souls who might take notice. 

Robin hunched his shoulders and stared at the back of his hand with an intensity that bordered on hatred. “If you reacted – poorly, I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. And even after, everything, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

It explained why he constantly wore his hood and shied away from physical contact, at least. Chrom didn’t understand entirely, not really, but it was still clear this had been weighing on him for some time. 

“And what now?” Robin continued. “Are you still sure I could never threaten your position? Or Em’s legacy?” His inflection wavered and rose, so by the end of the sentence it sounded like a genuine question.

And because the night was cold and dark and his heart ached for too many reasons and Robin looked seconds away from leaving, Chrom finally moved. He closed the widening distance between them and pulled Robin into his arms, hugging him tightly.

The tactician went rigid. Chrom feared he would pull away, until arms rose and hugged him in return. Robin almost slumped completely against him, like fear was the only thing keeping him standing. Chrom ran a hand up and down between his shoulder blades. He tucked his face into the side of Chrom’s neck. His breath was warm on the side of his throat. 

“I’m not Em,” he said. His heart twisted just saying her name. He suspected it always would. “I don’t think I could ever be as patient or selfless as her. This will be my life, but I want to make room for my heart, too. I want to make room for you to be a part of that. Every part about you, even the parts you don’t know anything about. I want you with me, and I want to help you find out more about yourself, if you’d let me.”

Maybe it wasn’t the right thing for a prince to feel, but it wouldn’t do for the long term to pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was the first time he said as much out loud, and he’s surprised at how light he felt. 

As he held him, warmth slowly built up between them. Chrom realized with mild surprise that it was the longest they’d been close to each other without the involvement of violence, fighting in a battle or patching up wounds.

From his shoulder, Robin took in a heavy breath and muttered something that sounded like ‘foolish’.

Or, maybe Robin would rather end things now? “I mean, unless you still want to…?”

“I do.” Robin pulled back a bit, though not enough to loose their communal warmth. He looked at Chrom. His eyes were wet. “I probably shouldn’t, but I really do.”

=

Just as Chrom learned a bit more about himself in the fumbling first days of their semi-relationship, after their talk in the woods he learned more about Robin as well.

The tactician primarily expressed affection through work. On the journey home, his work around camp nearly doubled, to the point his work habits threatened to rival Frederick’s. He slowed down a little bit when Chrom asked him to take it easy so he wouldn’t reopen wounds, but not by much.

It was how Robin expressed fondness for his friends as a whole. He tried to meet their needs before they were even thought of, and seemed actively uncomfortable with attention or praise when the tasks were done.

But Chrom was now privy to learn other ways the tactician gave and received affection. He never initiated physical contact, but whenever Chrom initiated, like holding his hand or embracing him, he was loathe to separate.

He had a weakness for kind words as well, easily blushing and hiding his face whenever Chrom complimented him when they were alone (“Flattery” he called it, which was absolutely false, in his opinion, because he never told him anything wasn’t true). Chrom also learned that he had a weakness for Robin’s weakness for kind words.

By all appearances, things were the same between them. They worked together, spent what little time they have freely together, and talked for the pleasure of it, true, but something fundamental was slowly shifting. One evening in his tent, a week out from the capital, as Chrom finished telling him a story from his childhood, Robin carefully cupped the back of his head and kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Chrom felt him smile against him, the small shy one he only rarely got to see up close, and he thought he could fall in love with him.

That part of his life, at least, was blossoming, but the future, as a whole was still an unlit pitfall laden road. When the army finally crossed Ylisstol’s gates and crowds begin to pour into streets, he can’t help the cold rush of fear that almost rooted him to the spot.

But Robin was beside him, his family and the Shepherds were around him, so he walked towards his future, unbowed.

**Author's Note:**

> everything i write always ends up sounding the same idk why


End file.
